


Tale as Old as Time

by whelvenwings



Series: After the Fall [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 10:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2064162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam recommends that Cas should start watching Disney movies to help with his insomnia, Cas decides to ask Dean to join him. Beauty and the Beast seems like a good story, but there's one thing that Cas is sure about - it can't end happily. A strange creature, terrifying and yet lost - he obviously stands no chance with the beautiful Belle. For who could ever learn to love a beast?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tale as Old as Time

“Cas, I don’t do Disney.”

Standing implacably next to the desk where Dean was working in the bunker, Cas put the DVD down on top of the open book where Dean’s eyes were focused.

“Dude, come on,” Dean protested, picking up the DVD and making to throw it away across the table; but then, he paused.

“Oh, Beauty and the Beast?” he read off the cover. “Isn’t that the one about the –”

“No ‘spoilers’, Dean,” Cas interrupted, putting air quotes around the new word. He’d picked it up last week, when Sam had been berating his brother for ruining the plot of the latest season of Game of Thrones.

Dean smiled, but handed the DVD back to Cas.

“I’ve, uh, I’ve really got to work on this, man. There’s a ghost out in Tennessee, could be a tulpa.”

Cas frowned. Dean had been reading up on cases ever since Cas had become a permanent fixture in the bunker – it was unnatural, the amount of graft he’d been putting in to ‘the most boring part of the job,’ as Dean himself had dubbed it many times before.

“You’ve been working all day,” Cas stated. “You should take a break. This movie sounds like a good one.”

“Yeah, well. I wouldn’t know. It’s not as though I used to drop by the cinema every weekend. ‘We’re all done ganking that rugaru, boys, so how about we go see the princesses?’” Dean said, imitating his father, pasting a false, lollipops-and-rainbows smile on his face. “Yeah, no.”

“Well, then, this could be your opportunity to catch up,” Cas answered calmly, retrieving the DVD from Dean’s hands and beginning to walk away. “I’ll be in the TV room.”

Cas walked down the darkened corridors, wondering if Dean would come and suspecting that he wouldn’t. Dean had been avoiding him ever since he’d arrived in the bunker; he had no idea why, and since this was Dean, it was unlikely he’d ever know.

He moved quietly past the door to Sam’s room; Sam was already asleep, though it was only ten in the evening. He needed the rest, before he woke up early for his morning run.

Dean and Cas tended to sleep later, or not at all.

Cas knew that this was not a healthy pattern of behaviour, but he always felt the push, push, push in his mind to stay up, keep moving. He could never relax; even when he crashed and slept for hours, he woke up with dry, red eyes and muscles aching from the tension.

It was when he’d emerged wild-eyed and tangle-haired from his bedroom at six-thirty in the evening, his lips cracking and his voice like dusty rubble, that Sam had suggested Disney movies.

“They’re like candy,” he’d said. “Film candy. Sweet, and delicious, and happy.”

“Bad for your brain,” Dean had added to the list. “Promise you a happy ending that never comes around in real life.”

“What kind of candy have you been eating, Dean?” Sam had teased, and that had been the end of the conversation. But at the store nearest the bunker, Cas had found himself a selection of Disney’s finest, and was working his way through them. He’d liked Pocahontas, and Lilo and Stitch. He’d been more ambivalent about Snow White. He was excited to try Beauty and the Beast; the text on the back of the case made it sound like a good story.

In the TV room, he slotted the DVD inside the player and went to sit on the sofa. He stretched out his legs, but felt immediately uncomfortable and tucked them under himself. The title menu showed, and he pressed play. His feet were already going to sleep; it didn’t matter, since he wasn’t going anywhere, but he hated the sensation of pins-and-needles. He swung them down to rest neatly on the floor.

The Disney logo flashed up on screen, and Castiel tried to settle in. He felt out of place, somehow, the leather sofa cold against his bare arms and the strip of skin showing between his t-shirt and his pyjama trousers.

“This had better be a good movie,” said a low, grumbling voice from the doorway, and Dean pushed it further open and stomped across the room. Cas watched him sit down with a kind of wonder, which he took care to hide.

“You came,” he stated simply, turning his head to look back at the screen.

“Yep,” said Dean casually. “Always liked the sound of that Beast guy. Seems like a badass.”

Castiel nodded, and the movie started.

**

For the first half of the film, neither of them spoke a word. They relaxed into the sofa by degrees, with Cas extremely aware of Dean’s body and where it was close to his own – their knees almost touching, their feet stretched out and pointing down intersecting lines across the room. Once, Cas thought he heard Dean snore, but when he looked, Dean was laughing at something Cogsworth had just said.

The story was good, just as Cas had hoped. He found himself becoming immersed in the characters. He liked Belle. She was brave, and selfless, and curious. He wondered whether Dean was liking the Beast, or Belle, or any part of the movie. He didn’t seem to be engaging with it much; when he watched Star Trek or Game of Thrones, he was always talking to the characters or shouting at the screen, in a way that Cas tried to find annoying.

But then –

“She shouldn’t do that,” Dean said suddenly, as Belle left the safety of Cogworth’s guided tour to go exploring the castle, heading for the forbidden West Wing. Cas tilted his head at the screen, watching her progress.

“She’s curious about the Beast,” he replied.

“But… she’s gonna find what he’s hiding,” Dean said, shaking his head. “That won’t go well.”

Castiel considered this.

“Maybe the Beast wants her to find what he’s hiding,” he suggested, as Belle’s eyes fell upon the shining pink rose. “It is beautiful.”

Dean snorted.

“Yeah,” he said. Belle lifted the lid off the rose, her eyes lit up with wonder. “It’s also the thing that’s gonna get him killed, if they’re not careful.”

At that moment, the Beast appeared, growling and roaring in his rage, smashing the furniture.

“Reminds me of you, if I try to wake you up without coffee,” Dean quipped, nudging Cas’ toe lightly with his own. Cas smiled.

When Dean was looking back at the movie, he curled his toe up tight, and then relaxed it.

On the screen, a terrified Belle fled the castle. Dean was nodding.

“Finally,” he said. “She stops sitting around feeling sorry for herself and actually  _does_  something.”

Cas pressed his lips together pensively.

“She made a promise to the Beast, to stay with him,” he said. “She should honour it.”

“What? She’s miserable,” Dean argued. “She’s doing the right thing. Her father probably needs her, anyway.”

Belle rode away through the snowy forest, and wolves appeared, snarling and fierce. Dean hissed through his teeth.

“Crap. That’s gonna be bad.”

Cas shook his head.

“The Beast will save her.”

Dean curled his lip sceptically.

“He barely knows her and she just ran away from him,” he said.

Cas shrugged.

“He’ll go after her.”

The wolves closed in, tugging on Belle’s dress. Her eyes were wide with horror; Cas noticed Dean’s hand was clenched into a tight fist.

“Not looking good,” he was saying. “If your boy is gonna turn up, it better be now.”

The wolves’ teeth looked sharp, and the ferocity in their yellow eyes was frightening. Belle’s attempts to defend herself had failed; she had collapsed to the floor, she was about to be –

With a roar, the Beast appeared.

“No way!” Dean called, smacking the arm of the sofa. “I mean, yeah, of course. This is Disney. But it makes  _no sense_.”

Cas looked bemused.

“It makes complete sense,” he said, looking over at Dean, who licked his lips and shook his head.

“Why would he go after her?” he demanded. “Like you said, she broke her promise. She’s gonna get him killed, look…” he said, gesturing to the screen, where Beast was being torn apart by the ravening wolves. “She led him right into that. Why would he save her?”

Cas swallowed and looked back at the screen. Beast had won the fight, but he was badly wounded.

“Because he cares about her,” he said.  _Too much, too soon,_ he added silently, in his head.

Dean grunted.

They were silent for a while after that.

When Belle and the Beast sat eating porridge and Beast scoffed down the lot, Cas couldn’t help but laugh.

“He looks just like you,” he said to Dean, just to see Dean’s expression of indignation. Instead, Dean looked thoughtful.

“Nah, Beast reminds me more of you,” he said.

“Oh, yes?”

“Yeah. Terrible at social manners and crap. Bad temper.” Cas smiled slightly and shook his head. He didn’t know why he’d expected anything else. “Big blue eyes,” Dean added, as an afterthought.

Cas breathed in sharply and looked over at Dean, who was staring at him with a blush creeping up his cheeks. Apparently, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

They both turned back to the screen, and didn’t say anything for a while. Cas felt the atmosphere in the room tightening, tense and anticipatory like a taut wire awaiting the first tentative step of the tightrope walkers.

“Not more singing,” Dean groaned, when the music started to kick in again. “The furniture is singing. What am I watching?”

“I like this one,” Cas said.  _When we’re human again, only human again,_ they sang. He saw Dean cast him a quick sideways glance.

“You do?”

“Yes. It’s catchy.”

“Funny how these guys  _want_ to be human,” Dean said, his tone too casual. Castiel nodded.

“And the Beast more than anyone, I think,” he said, carefully bland. "Even though being the Beast makes him powerful." Perhaps Dean was right; maybe he  _was_ a little like the Beast.

“Yeah,” Dean answered softly. “Yeah.”

There was more silence between them, but this time it was softer; less tense, and more quietly expectant. Cas’ attention on the movie was wavering. He found himself focusing instead on the gentle sigh of Dean’s breathing, and the way Dean’s arms were relaxed instead of crossed over his chest as usual, his fingers splayed over his knees and tapping out a fast rhythm as though drumming along to a nervous song that only he could hear.

 _Tale as old as time,_ sang Mrs Potts.  _True as it can be._

Cas’ eyes snapped back to the screen. Belle was taking Beast’s paws, placing one gently on her waist and holding the other in one of hers. He flexed his own fingers slightly.

Beast was so hesitant at first, not wanting to hurt Belle, or look foolish by messing up the steps. But she was smiling at him so warmly, and suddenly the Beast tightened his grip and spun her around, twirling her around the floor, dancing with her perfectly and it was  _magical_.

Cas watched the whole scene with rapt attention.

When the pair of them emerged on to the balcony, he groaned internally. This was the part with the plot twist, he guessed, having seen those few other Disney movies and knowing that it couldn’t end happily here. Sure enough, Belle said she missed her father, and Beast obliged her… and then she was looking into his magic mirror and seeing her father, stranded and sick in the forest. The agony on the Beast’s face as he watched Belle’s fear tugged at Cas’ heart. He knew, even before the words were spoken, that the Beast would allow her to leave.

Beside him, Dean was open-mouthed.

“ _How_ … could he let her go?” he said.

Cas sighed, low and rough.

“He had to,” he said. “It was more important that she was happy, than that she was with him. It makes sense.”

“You understand that?” Dean said, shaking his head. “I don’t know how, man.”

“Because I’ve done the same thing,” Cas replied softly. “I tried to let y-  _someone_ , go, once. So that they could be happy.” He made the amendment for Dean’s benefit, knowing that he’d be uncomfortable talking about this.

“Oh,” said Dean, and Cas could  _feel_ him wondering whether he was that someone, could feel him tugging on the loose threads of the conversation, trying to pull them together into something that made sense.

 _Why?_ demanded Cogsworth, on the screen, unable to understand the Beast’s choice.

 _Because. I love her,_ replied the Beast.

Castiel felt himself blushing. He hoped that Dean wasn’t looking.

The next few minutes passed in a haze of vague embarrassment. Cas tried hard to concentrate, but kept being distracted by what he’d just subtly, accidentally, yet certainly admitted. Had Dean heard him start to say  _you_? Did Dean know that  _he_ was the one that Cas had tried to let go, that  _he_ was the reason Cas understood the anguish of the Beast?

Cas found himself thinking of that day again, as he had so often before, when he’d turned away from Dean raking leaves in his garden and followed Crowley down to Hell. He’d dreamt of that day again and again, wondered what would have happened if he’d acted differently, and yet – if he were honest with himself – it was stupid to even think about. Cas could never have made any other decision – he could never have willingly put Dean through the struggle and heartbreak of the war that he had thought his own to fight.

It was important that Dean never found out about this, about the depth of Cas’ feelings for him. He knew enough already to make him push Cas away whenever he could, ignore his presence in the bunker for weeks. Telling Dean the truth would only make it worse, Cas was sure.

When the villagers started to break down the door to the castle, Cas found his focus returning to the film. Gaston was attacking the Beast with all of his muscular ferocity, and the Beast was allowing it to happen, not fighting, not even trying.

“Would he just  _fight_ , already?” Dean demanded.

Cas shook his head.

“He needs Belle,” he said.

“What?”

“She’s going to arrive. When she does, he’ll start to fight,” Cas said. “He can’t do it without her.”

“You sound sure about that,” Dean said, his tone poised between seriousness and levity.

“Watch,” said Cas, with certainty. “Here she is.” He felt a tug in his tummy as he realised where his certainty came from – a memory of another time he’d revisited often in his nightmares, when Naomi’s control over his mind and his actions had been near-total, and only one thing had managed to crack through the layers of cold, angelic programming. “She’s going to call his name, and it’s going to make him fight.”

 _Beast,_ Belle called, and they saw the spark of hope flare in the Beast’s eyes.

“Dude. Uncanny,” Dean said.

Cas shrugged.

“It’s the way these stories go,” he said.

“What do you mean? What kinda stories?” Dean asked absently, watching the Beast struggling for his life against Gaston and his stone club.

“Stories about unrequited love,” Cas replied, a little dully.

Dean frowned, turning to look at him.

“Dude, it is no way unrequited.”

Cas tilted his head sceptically.

“The Beast is so different to her,” he said, trying to keep his voice free of emotion. “And she obviously cares a little, but then she left.”

“She came back,” Dean argued.

“She’s never said she likes him, in that way,” Cas said.

“Neither did the Beast. Not to her face,” replied Dean. “Just because she doesn’t say it, just because there are other important things in her life, it doesn’t mean she loves him any less!” He’d gone a little pink. “Uh. Probably,” he added.

“I see,” Cas said, thoughtfully.

Dean threw him a nervous look, and then fixed his eyes on the screen.

“Yeah, come on, you ugly bastard. Get your girl. Climb up that roof. Reach out the paw, this is ridiculous, and –  _what?_ ” Dean was on his feet, as Gaston stabbed into the Beast’s side viciously. “You – you piece of – no! Is she gonna…? OK, she’s got him…” He subsided back to the sofa. “Christ, I really thought – wait.  _Crap_. Is he still dying?”

“Yes,” said Cas miserably.

And now his certainty was absolute: he knew how it would end. The Beast was going to die, because he took his eyes off his enemy, and reached for Belle instead.

“No freakin’ way, they wouldn’t do that. They can’t do that. She’s got to do something, she’s got to tell him…” The Beast’s eyes closed. His paw fell to the ground.

 _I love you,_ Belle whispered, clinging to him. Cas glanced over at Dean, expecting to find him wearing a triumphant, vindicated expression, since he’d just been proven correct: Belle did love the Beast – but Dean’s eyes were wide, and – just possibly, slightly wet?

The last petal on the rose fell.

“But – but wait!” Dean said, his voice gruff. “She said it before the petal fell! That means…”

A single shooting light fizzed across the screen, bright with enchantment. Dean reached over and grabbed Cas’ arm.

“He’s totally gonna be OK!” Dean crowed, stamping one foot on the ground. “I knew it!” He relinquished his grip on Cas’ wrist, and clasped his hands together excitedly instead.

Cas watched, open-mouthed, as the Beast was lifted into the air. His hairy hands became smooth; his clawed feet became soft and pink; and his  _face –_

“Oh no,” Dean said, as the man swung around. “He’s hot.”

Cas could only agree. There was something in his jawline, and the shape of his lips…

“It’s those eyes,” Dean said, shaking his head. “ _Damn_.”

The Beast – or the Prince, now – stepped forward, spoke to Belle in his own true voice for the first time. She smiled, teasing her fingers through his hair, staring into his eyes. He drew her in close.

“Good things do happen,” Cas murmured to himself, as they kissed.

The film ended, all too quickly. Dean stood up quickly and made for the door.

“Great movie, Cas,” he said over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

Cas didn’t go to bed that night. Unbeknownst to him, neither did Dean. They sat at opposite ends of the bunker, raking their fingers through their hair, smiling and scowling by turns as they allowed themselves to gather up hope, and then just as quickly let it go.

**

The next morning found Cas standing in front of the TV. He’d been replaying parts of the movie all night, watching the expressions on the faces of the characters, learning to love Maurice and completely  _hate_ everything about Gaston.

Now, for the seventeenth time, he was watching the dancing scene. It was his favourite, without question. Only the part where Belle taught the Beast how to feed the birds came close.

“You’re gonna get square eyes,” said Dean, from the door. He was leaning against the doorframe. Cas shrugged, aware of his arms hanging awkwardly by his sides. He wondered briefly if he’d ever figure out how to make his body fit, or if it would ever belong neatly somewhere.

“I like this scene,” he said.

“The dancing?”

“That, and the song.  _Barely even friends, then somebody bends, unexpectedly._  It makes me think…”

 _… there might be hope_ , he wanted to finish, but stopped himself.

Dean nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. His tone lingered over expectancy, seeming wistful.

They stood in silence for a long, long moment. The movie played quietly in the background, and the seconds slid by; time was gliding the two of them past each other as it always did, brushing them together like the sky and the land on the horizon, distant and inflexible and unchangeable.

Unbendable.

Unless…

“Dean, I’m glad you found what I was hiding,” Cas blurted out suddenly, as Dean began to turn away.

Dean stopped.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded, perhaps a little more harshly than he meant to, because he took a step closer and tilted his head to soften the question.

“The part in the story where Belle finds what Beast is hiding, you remember? In the West Wing. His… weakness, his vulnerability – she went looking for it, and she found it, and nothing was the same afterwards. And you… you did that, for me.” Dean’s expression was confused, but not hostile. Cas swallowed hard and pressed on, swinging one arm awkwardly. “I care. About the angels, about humanity, about…” his throat stuck, so he changed tack. “That’s what I was hiding, Dean. That’s my weakness, my vulnerability… the crack in my chassis.”

Dean nodded slightly, still looking a little bemused.

“And you found that. You went looking for it, and you found it, and nothing was the same afterwards. And I’m glad that you found what I was hiding.”

“Wait, so. You care about the angels and humanity? That’s what you were hiding?” Dean asked, looking unsure.

“I have the capacity to love,” Castiel said softly, looking down at the floor. “I can love, but I never did, before. Like the Beast never loved, before he met…”

“Belle,” Dean said, his tone inscrutable. “Cas… I’m confused. What are you trying to say?”

“I…” Cas trailed off. “I’m trying to say that - that if I’d never met you, I never would have realised what I could do. I never would have realised that I could... fall. I never would have realised that I could lose everything, that I could throw myself to the wolves, and that I could survive it. I never would have known that I could need someone to be safe and happy," Cas swallowed hard, "more than wanting them to be near me. I never would have realised that I could reach the brink of – of the worst crime I could possibly commit, and be called back at the last moment by… by one person’s voice.”

“You’re talking about the crypt,” Dean said, referencing the memory so easily that Cas was suddenly sure that Dean, too, had played the scene out over and over again in his mind. “You’re talking about my voice. Cas, you’re talking about  _me._ ”

Cas, who had talked enough to last a lifetime, nodded silently.

“Cas,” Dean said, sounding slightly lost, but with a brightness that suggested he didn’t immediately wish to be found. “ _Cas._ ”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Cas whispered, each word dredged up like pieces of sandpaper running over his insides, burning his mouth as he spoke. “I couldn’t tell you, Dean.”

“Why the hell not?” Dean demanded, taking another step closer.

“Because I know what kind of story this is,” Cas said. “This isn’t Disney. This is an unrequited love story, and I don’t get a happy ending. I don’t have a staff of helpful furniture. I don’t get a rose, I get a fatal flaw. The shooting lights in the sky aren’t magic, they’re my brothers and sisters falling from heaven. And my Beauty,” he paused, swallowed hard, and then finished, “doesn’t love me.”

There was a pause. Dean cleared his throat; when Cas glanced up quickly at his face, he was staring into space, seeming to be gathering up the words to reply.

“You know, you were right about nearly everything in the movie, Cas,” Dean said, eventually. “Nearly everything. You got one part wrong. There was one part of it where you were absolutely freakin’  _wrong._ ” He took one final step closer, sliding his body in next to Cas’, reaching for Cas’ hands and laying one on his hip, holding the other tight in one of his own. “See, the thing is, Cas… Belle loved the Beast.”

With care, with infinite slowness, Dean leaned forwards, teasing his free hand through the strands of Cas’ hair and looking deep, deep into his eyes.

“You don’t get the big castle,” he said, his voice rough as he stared and stared at Cas, who felt  _seen_ for the first time in weeks – and his hand on Dean’s hip felt so  _right_  – “and I’m not much good at dancing. But you get me,” Dean said, and then cleared his throat, looked down at Cas’ chin in embarrassment. “I mean, if you want me, Cas.”

“Dean,” said Cas, disbelievingly. Dean looked up again, met his eyes, and smiled.

“It’s not raining,” he said. “And you’re already human. But whether that last damn petal has already fallen or not, Cas… I love you.”

“Dean…”

“I love you. Don’t argue with me.”

“Dean.”

Cas’ grip on Dean’s hip relaxed slightly. He gently leaned his weight left, then right, rocking Dean with him to the slow, steady beat of a song that only he could hear: a song about warmth, and belonging, and the slowly-easing ache of a cramped, hidden love finally given the chance to stretch its wings, to fly.

**

Dean and Cas went to bed at nine o’clock in the evening, that night. They lay curled together in bed for over an hour, talking and talking, with their bare legs entwined. Cas loved the feel of the soft hair on Dean’s shins, and the smoothness of his thighs.

After a while, Dean’s eyes were starting to close, so he moved his head closer, tucking himself up next to Cas so that their noses were side-by-side, their lips just touching.

“See, now I don’t have to have my eyes open to know what you’re saying,” Dean said, his lips brushing Cas’ every time they moved. “I can feel it, instead.”

“Dean, you do know that you don’t need to see me to hear me talk?” Cas replied, moving his lips a little more than usual just to feel the slight friction against Dean’s.

He felt Dean’s forehead crease, next to his own.

“Do you have a problem with this arrangement, Cas?” he demanded, though Cas could feel his lips turning upwards against his own. He moved forwards a little more, kissing Dean fully for a moment before pulling back.

“No, Dean,” he sighed. “This is perfect.”

“It’s not a happy ending,” Dean warned. “Tomorrow we’re fighting a ghost, possible tulpa.”

Cas smiled softly, and kissed Dean again.

“I don’t want a happy ending. I don’t want Disney,” he said. “All I need is you.”

They slept until the morning, and woke up with their lips still pressed together in matching smiles.


End file.
